


Save it for a rainy day

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff, Friendship, Mythology References, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Time Travel, and lots of feels in general, bit of angst, kids from the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after two children appear at the Hub, seemingly out of nowhere, claiming their parents are two agents on Coulson’s team, and that they were sent back in time with a message about secret weapon and saving the world, the team has to find out the truth. (And save the world. And babysit.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I’m a huge baby and kidfic person, I can’t quite imagine a scenario with Skye and Ward having a kid (yet) - it’s still too early, and they’re at the developing trust stage. And then I thought, what if kids from the future showed up, who know them and the team as slightly different people, with solid bonds and mutual history and inner jokes and everything that comes with living and working together with years of togetherness? So here it is. 
> 
> Shout out to my skyeward buddies, **teruel-a-witch** who helped me how to put this together, and **ohmycheese** , the best writing cheerleader one can have, and especially to my true partner in writing crime, **shenshen77** who keeps holding my hand and listens about this even though it's not exactly her ship. *huggles*

Victoria Hand didn't enjoy seeing her agents confused. Her agents were supposed to know the answers. Confusion meant trouble and possible danger. 

“Ma'am,” Agent Sitwell's voice sounded alert. 

“Agent Sitwell,” she said. “Did something happen?” 

Nothing was _supposed_ to happen. All of the current operations were running as they should have been, and some minor problems were being looked into, so Sitwell's facial expression definitely wasn't a welcome thing. So she really wanted him to tell her that there was a situation which was being handled, but her gut was telling her she wouldn't be of such luck. 

“We have a situation. Ma'am,” he said warily. Victoria began to rise from her chair. “Not with the current missions, Ma'am,” he added, but she didn't feel any relief. 

“What happened?” Victoria asked, not happy with the way Agent Sitwell was delaying his response. 

“Ahem. I am not certain, Ma'am. But it seems that two children have found their way into Operations -”

She blinked. 

“Children? Whose children?” 

A big number of personnel did have children, but they weren't allowed to run freely around the compound. But children in Operations? That was completely unheard of, that should have been impossible, for number of good reasons. 

“That's part of the problem,” Sitwell said. Victoria frowned. She would bet that it was a large part of the problem. Still the agent hesitated in a way a competent, experienced agent shouldn't have. 

“Agent Sitwell, I will need more information,” she said. “Whose children have you found?”

“Well. And they apparently know who I am,” Sitwell shifted uncomfortably. “But I don't know them.”

“Agent Sitwell,” Victoria's patience was wearing thin. However she knew Sitwell, and this wasn't his normal behavior. “Did you ask about their parents?”

“Yes I did,” he said, pressing his lips into a thin line. What followed was, mildly put, a surprise. “They said their father is Agent Ward.”

Victoria blinked again. “Agent _Ward_? As in, Coulson's team member, Agent Grant Ward?” The one she sent to a suicide mission, Victoria added to herself. That one. 

Sitwell nodded, his face dreadfully serious. “Ma'am,” he paused. “Agent Ward doesn't have any children. That we know of,” Sitwell added carefully. 

“ _That_ could be a problem,” Victoria remarked trying not to run all the possible scenarios where something like this could end very, very badly. 

“True. However, there's something else.”

Of course there was something else, Victoria thought. Because one problem couldn't possibly land in their laps on it's own, right?

“Yes?” 

“I asked them about their parents. _Mother_ and father,” Sitwell continued and Victoria could feel a headache starting. 

“And?”

“They claim – they referred to their mother as Agent Ward as well.”

“What?”

“Agent Ward isn't married at all, least married to another fellow agent” Sitwell continued. “ _That we know of_ , ma'am. I've looked up his personal file. There aren't even records of -”

Victoria nodded quickly. If he dated anyone within the agency – which wasn't forbidden per se, just needed to be precisely regulated – there would be a record of that. 

“I also looked up for birth certificates of the boys,” Sitwell cleared his throat. Boys, Victoria noted, realizing she hadn't asked about children at all – not their gender or age or names. “Ma'am, they don't exist,” he paled slightly as he said that, and Sitwell was a man who didn't pale. She had never seen him pale, and she'd seen him beaten up, unconscious and sick. “Which doesn't make much sense, but then the older boy, uh, Andrew – he said he was born in 2020.”

Victoria had a sudden urge to open her mouth and sit back down. She didn't. If Sitwell was all lost and confused someone had to keep focus, and that someone was her. 

Besides, she'd seen weirder things happen around here, right? 

“That's impossible,” she said. Sitwell sighed. She couldn't blame him. 

“Do you wanna bet on that, Ma'am?” Sitwell asked. 

*

“All I am saying, Simmons, is that this is weird. Like, very weird. Why would they insist that we coma all the way from -”

“Fitz! Not so loud,” Jemma insisted. “You know our previous location is confidential -”

Leo sighed, exasperated and nervous. Not that he disliked the Hub, no, but ever since his last stop here the mere thought of it made him weirdly nervous. He much rather preferred to work in a lab, thank you very much, and leave big scary agent work to big scary agents, such as Ward. “Okay, okay, but you _get the point_. Would you look at this place? What do you think, how many people here can perform something as simple as DNA analysis? Why request for Jemma Simmons specifically??”

“It was a personal request from two unidentified test subjects,” Simmons replied. That didn't pacify him at all, in fact, that could only mean more trouble. Nasty, complicated trouble he didn't feel like getting into. Not that Jemma did either, but a specific request for her, from Victoria Hand herself was something that could make any agent feel special. Obviously Jemma wasn't immune, and Leo couldn't blame her, who really could? But _still_. 

“But _who_ would ask for such a thing,” Leo insisted and ducked away when he met her gaze. “Not that I don't appreciate your scientific and analytic skills, Simmons,” he added quickly. 

“Of course you do, Fitz,” she said, sympathy and exasperation which revealed that she was nervous just as he was. They both swiped newly provided SHIELD cards through a scanner on the entry to Operations and the door slid open. Jemma took a deep breath and steeled her grip on her toolkit case. (Not that there wasn't sufficient equipment in here, but she liked her own, preferred it when situation was unclear.) A senior agent approached them – a bald headed guy who seemed just a bit tense, despite his easy going smile. 

“Agent Simmons,” he greeted. “I hope you don't have any guns on you this time.”

“Oh, ooooh,” Leo said. “It's him? You shot _him_? You shot Agent Sitwell?” 

Jemma sighed. Her grin was big, bright and uncomfortable. “I sincerely apologize. Sir,” she said. “It's not something I'd usually do.” 

“M – hmm,” he didn't look convinced, and hopefully he was just pretending to be unamused. They had work to do, and said work probably wasn't about soothing Sitwell's wounded ego. Just when Leo was about to say something cranky a woman approached them. Leo wouldn't mistake her for anyone but Victoria Hand, even if he didn't know how she looked. 

“Agents Fitz and Simmons, I presume?” she asked. 

Leo felt Jemma's fingers briefly around his forearm. He held his breath too, and felt almost like he was granted a free tour round the Tardis. If Skye had been in here she'd probably tell them both to stop fangirling. 

“We were hoping you two could help us sort out a situation that occurred earlier yesterday,” Hand said with a slight edge to her voice. 

“Yes,” Jemma looked happy enough not to deal with Agent Sitwell any more. “We were told we need to conduct DNA testing on unidentified subjects.”

Hand didn't comment right away. Her gaze shifted from Leo to Jemma as if she was trying to determine something. Her pleasant expression reminded Leo too much of Agent Ward's certain expressions to truly believe it. Something wasn't quite right, but Leo resisted his urge to fidget and wished Coulson was here. 

“We were told you need me specifically to conduct a DNA test,” Jemma added in an attempt to ease the tension. 

“Yes,” Hand said finally. “That's correct. The circumstances are quite unique, I should say,” she added. “If you'd follow me?”

It wasn't exactly a request. They were led through several corridors and the guided into a room with a one way observation glass window. Leo neared it and looked into the adjoining room – in there were two boys sitting on an examination table, much like one they had on the Bus. Both children were dark haired, and somewhere between ages of five and ten. Leo couldn't tell exactly. The older boy seemed to be on the lookout, the younger was contently prodding a tablet computer, probably playing a game. Leo looked at Jemma and she returned a confused look. Children? That was why they were called? 

Hand cleared her throat and Leo remembered she too was in the room, along with Agent Sitwell whose expression was somehow oddly expectant. If there was a joke going, Leo hadn't caught on. Yet.

“Is this why you requested us?” Leo asked, realizing how nervous he sounded. 

“Yes,” Hand replied simply, still looking at them like they were due some kind of answer. Jemma shifted. 

“Wait... are you telling us these two children requested me to perform a DNA analysis?” 

“That's correct,” Hand replied. Leo frowned. Now that didn't really make any sense. Jemma looked at him, but he was at loss just as she. 

“But who – who are they?” Jemma finally asked. 

“I was hoping you could tell us, Agent Simmons. _They_ were asking for you.”

Jemma shook her head. “I don't know them – do you know them, Fitz?”

“No,” Leo replied. He positively didn't know those two children in there, but had a feeling that two senior agents were expecting otherwise. 

“Why would they ask for me then,” Simmons said. Victoria Hand shared a look with Agent Sitwell, one that told Leo they were going to find out why. 

And possibly won't like it. 

 

*

Jemma felt odd, to say the least. Part of her felt curiosity that was purely scientific, but other part of her was trying to tell her that was terribly wrong, because of entire set of circumstances. She conducted DNA tests before, of course. Plenty of times. And considering that the results were needed quite quickly, Jemma intended to run a quick comparison of genetic markers, similar to those performed before organ transplants. Those wouldn't be conclusive results, of course, that would require a day at least, or perhaps hours, because this _was_ the Hub after all, but it would be a starting point, and hopefully enough to clear up entire confusion because it couldn't be true, couldn't it?

Except. She took one final glance trough the one way glass and couldn't unsee the similarity between the older child and her teammate. Hair, eyes, mannerisms, movement; it was like watching a miniaturized Grant Ward. Frowning included. 

“You're not ready for this, are you?” Fitz said. 

“The older one,” Jemma noted absently. Fitz slanted a look at her. “He looks like Agent Ward.”

“Simmons -”

“Tell me you don't see it, Fitz,” she said. 

“It's a ridiculous story, Jemma,” Fitz tried to assure her, but he didn't sound convincing or convinced. “Time travel is impossible.”

“Says a Doctor Who fan,” she replied, reaching for the best argument she could think of right now. He was about to retort but she was quicker. “How many times have we discussed it -?”

“On a purely theoretical level,” Fitz said. His expression sobered tenfolds. “That can't be true.”

“Well,” she took a breath to compose herself, not sure how she felt. Time travel would be the best explanation, she thought. Other options included problems she didn't want to be true. “We should talk to them and learn as much as we can, right?” 

Fitz gave her another look. “You know I hate children,” he said and she rolled her eyes.

“No you don't,” she raised a finger to make a point. “You just keep saying that to your nephews so you could read scientific journals instead of answering their questions.”

“Because I hate answering their questions,” he insisted. 

“Right,” she managed a smirk. His indignant expression thankfully helped. If she had to be separated from her team, she was thankful she could keep Fitz with her. Handling this all alone would be much worse. 

“I am serious.”

“Of course you are, Fitz. It's why children like you.”

Fitz sighed.

There wasn't more time to stall this. Jemma figured it would be all much better if they just dealt with it, ridiculous story or not. They could handle two children. They could handle strange things, they have, in fact, specialized in strange by now. If there was any truth in this, then her team could be in various kinds of trouble – but she did not believe that Agent Ward and Skye somehow met before and had two children and pretended that they didn't, or that they forgot all about it. There _had_ to be a different explanation. Maybe the children were trained to fool them with this story in order to achieve who-knew-what? Jemma pulled her ID card through the door scanner with all the conviction she wished she truly possessed, for the sake of her team and herself. 

Boys were both bent over the tablet, the bigger one giving instructions to the smaller one, and for a moment they didn't notice her. Jemma glanced at Fitz – he _had_ to see it despite not wanting it – the way he crossed his arms and the way he gave instructions to the younger child and how he looked up -

“Auntie Jemma!” The tablet computer was forgotten. They both ran and collided with her in a hug she was only half prepared for, but managed to stay on her feet. 

“Oh wait, wait, wait -” she put her case to the floor before she dropped it and looked at Fitz for help, but he just stood there looking as bewildered as she felt. “Boys?” 

The older one looked up, met her eyes and parted from her. Then he pulled his younger brother (if he was his brother) away. 

“I'm sorry,” the older boy said. “You don't know us,” he looked at the smaller boy with considerable concern. 

“Yet,” the smaller one added and grinned. Jemma frowned. It was a familiar grin. 

“No, I don't think I know you,” she addressed mini – Grant, reminding herself to stop calling him that in her mind. “What's your name?” 

“I'm Andrew,” he said and smiled a little, cautiously, just like Agent Ward did sometimes, and a dimple appeared on his chin, which made the resemblance even more striking. “And this is Tom.”

“You have weird clothes, Uncle Fitz,” Tom said then, curiously observing Fitz. 

“Tom,” Andrew said, giving the smaller boy a kind of look Agent Ward had reserved mostly for Skye's remarks, and sometimes Fitz's freaking out.

“But Andy,” the younger boy frowned in return, “Mommy said he would.”

Mommy, Jemma noted. One of the things they were supposed to ask them about, find out more details, since they refused to tell Agent Hand everything she claimed she needed to know. (Which was remarkable all in itself.)

“It's not nice to say something like that,” Andrew insisted and Jemma wondered if channeling an adult person you presumably didn't know could be trained to this kind of precision. Or rather perfection. “Besides he's not _our_ Uncle Fitz.”

“I know,” the little one sighed. “You better tell them.” 

“Tell us what?” Fitz asked. 

“About the artifact and the paper and bad guys coming to -,” Tom started but Andrew nudged him. “Andy!”

“You know what daddy said, Tom,” Andrew warned, arms crossed. Tom imitated the gesture, only he obviously wasn't in the mood to be as serious. 

“Not to tickle you when you're asleep?” Tom asked innocently. From the corner of her eye Jemma could see Fitz frowning, like he just figured something out. 

“Boys?” he said, which got their attention. “We need to ask you a couple of things, okay?” 

“Yes,” Jemma used the chance presented at her. “Like how two of you got here, right Fitz?” she picked up her briefcase and put it on the table. Tom eyed her warily. 

“Are you going to draw our blood now?” he asked, obviously not delighted with the prospect. Jemma pressed her lips. She could swab the inside of their cheeks, but orders were clear, blood samples, not cheek swabs. 

“I'm afraid I'll have to,” she said. 

“You know what daddy said,” it was Andrew again, but his tone was different now. 

“But it hurts,” Tom protested. Jemma paused for a second. How old was he? How old were both of them anyway? Were they scared? They should have been, but they didn't look like it. She didn't enjoy the idea of sticking kids with needles without a proper cause, not even if it was an order. 

“I'll hold your hand,” Andrew offered and looked at Jemma. 

“You're a good boy,” she said, preparing her kit and snapping on the gloves. When she knelt in front of Andrew, he was dutifully rolling up his sleeve. He smiled, and it sent shivers down Jemma's spine and then it hit her – it wasn't the fact that they were kids that was bothering her, or even possibly – lost kids. What got to her was the familiarity in the boy's eyes directed at her. Complete trust, despite the needle in her hand. “You really are a good boy,” she added, but it didn't help with the strange kind of guilt in her chest. He gave her a kind of grin she never saw on Agent Ward's face. 

“You always say that, Auntie Jemma.”

*

“But you told me,” Tom was treating Leo's thigh like his personal seat, which Leo wasn't enjoying. “It's a timey – wimey thing.”

The boy displayed the bracelet again, which had to be a bad joke, because really? Time traveling bracelets? Did someone – whoever set this up – believe he'd buy that? After he'd seen entire Torchwood and Doctor Who. “With a counter,” Leo remarked, glancing at Jemma. She looked at him over her shoulder instructively. Play along. Right. 

“It counts down the time until mommy picks us up,” Tom revealed. Leo frowned – it had a small screen and screamed _Back to the Future_. 

“Two weeks, three days, eleven hours and twenty four seconds?” he read. 

“Daddy said it would be enough time,” Andrew, who sat next to Jemma on the lab desk looked up. “You said it wouldn't.”

“Me?”

“ _Future_ you,” Tom clarified, as if Leo was just too slow to finally catch up on this very simple fact. Leo looked at the slightly crumpled paper, sitting on the table in front of him. He didn't need a computer program or an expert on handwriting to be certain that the handwriting he was looking at was his. Or rather, exactly like his, because it couldn't really be his, couldn't it? Just like these two couldn't be Ward's and Skye's children, no matter what Jemma said about resemblance. Multiple times. 

He knew he never wrote this note (longitude, latitude, and HIDE IT, underlined with five exclamation marks, and he always used five, not three like most people did, because everyone did it, _and if something was really important, Simmons, it deserves five exclamation marks_ ).

“Okay, future me,” Leo conceded. “What does future me look like?” 

“Like Twelfth Doctor, only better,” Tom grinned brightly, and Jemma actually _laughed_ at that. 

“That's what mommy says,” Andrew grinned from his spot. 

All right, Leo thought. He'll have to talk to Skye. If she is going to compare him with any Doctor, it should be Ten. 

“What is this about?” he asked, pointing at the paper on the table. 

“That's where you and daddy found the first orb. In Egypt,” Andrew slid from the desk he was sitting on and walked to the table, leaning against it with both hands. Leo shook his head – it did remind him of what Agent Ward did during briefings, but that couldn't be enough proof, so he looked at Simmons. She said not long, because SHIELD had fancy equipment and detailed files with genetic markers, which she was presumably looking up right now. 

“The Orb?” Leo prodded.

“It's a super dangerous alien weapon,” Tom clarified, adding a punchline after. “And it's _round_.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. Jemma glanced over her shoulder again, and Leo had a distinct feeling of familiarity. 

“Tom, you gotta tell the story from the beginning,” Andrew insisted. 

“Uncle Fitz asked about the orb, and I told him about the orb,” Tom was stubborn, and as entertaining as they were (not that Leo would admit it, or say they reminded him of other two people he knew), he was starting to lose patience. 

“Okay, okay -” he sighed. 

“Uh oh. Uncle Fitz is upset,” Andrew said. 

“I'm not -”

“You are.”

“You make that face, Uncle Fitz,” Tom said regretfully. 

“What face?”

Both of them promptly did an impersonation of a frown which made Jemma giggle. What made Leo pause was the automatic response from both, the way they did this, the familiarity they both seemed to have while talking to Jemma and him. Trained to do this? No, Leo doubted that, wondering if one could brainwash children, holding back a shudder. He'd taken a class about interrogation during his early academy days out of pure curiosity. Their lecturer claimed that if you could think of something, some form of torture, it's already been done. Somewhere in this world existed people who were willing and capable of brainwashing children, or using them as armed soldiers.

He was definitely upset. 

“We're sorry?” Andrew added with sheepish expression, which too was slightly familiar, like a remainder of team Scrabble evenings and how Skye would grin into Ward's face when she robbed him of what he counted as certain victory. 

“Okay, fellas,” Leo sighed. “Can you tell me more about this orb?” 

“It's called Orb of chaos,” Andrew said. “It looks like a funny bracelet you pull on your palm.”

“And then what? You cause chaos?”

Andrew nodded. “Pretty much. That's why you were tried to destroy the Orb, but you couldn't so you had to hand it over to someone else, and now the Orb is gone -”

“- and bad guys have the other Orb,” said Tom. 

“Other Orb?” 

Both nodded. “That's all we know, Uncle Fitz,” Leo said. “Daddy said you will figure it out.” 

“I will figure it out?” Leo repeated looking at both boys. 

“Daddy said,” Andrew repeated with more conviction. 

“What,” Leo said, pretending for a moment that their story was real, “would that mean your dad trusts me to pull something off?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Ward learn what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the previous chapter, Skye and Ward learn about Andrew and Tom. Victoria Hand has some questions, of course.

“Well you could at least let me go pee! What did you expect, that I'd disappear through toilet? I wish we really lived in _Harry Potter_ , I would just obliviate you all or something,” Skye's complaint was directed at the room, everyone in it, and anyone who might be listening. Grant closed the door behind him, noting that Sitwell followed inside, and two other agents remained outside the door. 

“Sir,” he said when he spotted Coulson. His face seemed neutral, but his shoulders were tense. Skye didn't bother hiding her annoyance, and part of him wanted to roll his eyes at her at least. Other part of him, the one that spent six hours alone in a locked room and didn't move from the chair he was sitting in still had numb butt and too many suspicions to count. To that part of him Skye was appropriately a welcome loud voice. “Ma'am,” Grant greeted Victoria Hand then. Her face was neutral as well, but if he could read people (and he could), whatever was going on wasn't going to be good. 

“Good that you could join us, Agent Ward,” Hand said. Across the room Skye leaned next to a glass window and crossed her arms. Please be quiet, Grant thought, but she was going to do exact the opposite. Of course. 

“Oh, I bet it's good,” she started. “Except you kinda had him dragged here, didn't you?”

“Skye,” Coulson's voice was inflection-less, but there was an edge. 

“It's all right,” Hand said. “Perhaps I'd be nervous myself,” she turned to Sitwell and nodded. Grant noticed his quick look at Coulson just before he went out of the room. “Please join me by the observation window.” 

It wasn't a request. Skye remained where she stood, at one end of the said window while Grant neared the other, crossing his arms and schooling his face into careful neutrality. Coulson stood next to him, while Hand didn't near them at all. 

Grant was going to contemplate on that when the door inside the other room opened. In walked Simmons and Fitz, each holding a child by the hand. Grant's frown lasted only one telling moment. Victoria Hand was observing him and Coulson, not Skye. 

“What are they doing with those kids?” Skye asked when Fitz and Simmons took a seat on a long, bleak looking couch. The boys sat between them. Jemma glanced towards the glass, which from their side looked like a mirror, but doubtlessly Jemma knew how this worked. 

“Don't you know those children, miss Skye?” Hand asked in a tone that was falsely even. 

“Should I?” Skye asked. “Sure, I grew up in an orphanage, which is something I'm sure _you_ know, but that doesn't mean I know random kids,” there was unease about her words, especially when she glanced back at the scene with Fitz and Simmons and the two boys. 

“Interestingly,” Hand proceeded, “since the results of a DNA test confirmed those two children are yours.”

“ _What_?” she said with complete shock that wasn't pretended. Grant _knew_ that, but Victoria Hand probably wasn't going to be convinced. “What do you mean DNA test …? What DNA test?”

“Haven't you heard of them, miss Skye? The results can't be faked. Your team members over there performed them and made sure the results are conclusive,” Agent Hand supplied, and her voice sounded vaguely accusing. Skye was not calm, she was, in fact, anything but. Grant could see the color marring her cheeks and wetness in her eyes, and how she got more upset by the moment. He felt the anger rise inside his chest, he could feel questions forming in his mind but told himself to wait before he ran with any conclusions and didn't say anything, certain that he could make this situation worse.

“No. _No_ ,” Skye said. “That's completely ridiculous, I never had a kid, least two! What are you saying that I had my first kid when I was, what, fifteen? Sixteen?!”

“Sir, I'm sure that's something that can be confirmed. St. Agnes probably has health records,” Grant interjected carefully. Hand turned to him, and at that moment he knew he should have stayed quiet. 

“We did, Agent Ward. She was actually missing for months. Long enough to have a child.”

“What? I have been on the plane with your people long enough, don't you think they'd notice two kids running around??!” 

Agent Hand ignored that, though. She was still looking at Grant. Up to that point Skye was standing as far away as she could, now she had walked up to Grant and placed herself in between him and Agent Hand – and Grant noticed that her crossed arms were trembling, even though she was trying to hide it.

“Not if someone arranged for them to be someplace else. Like the father of the children.”

“And who might that be?” Skye asked. 

Hand didn't say anything. She just kept on looking, and since her eyes never moved ever since Grant neared the window....

He felt something like cold dread. Something like an incredibly heavy stone dropping in the pit of his stomach as the room started spinning around him.

“No,” Skye was repeating, her voice coming to him like an echo, and only then Grant realized she took a step away from him. “No, no, no, that can't – just _no_.”

“Victoria,” Coulson started carefully. “What are you implying?”

Agent Hand turned to Coulson. Grant had a feeling the temperature in the room had dropped, but he couldn't be certain. He looked between two older agents and Skye and then Fitz and Simmons behind that glass and the two kids – for a moment it felt like the younger boy had seen him, like he was looking straight at Grant, and he made himself look away. No, he though, no, no, this had to be a mistake. Agent's Hand voice came to him like through fog. 

“I'm not sure, Phil. How well do you know the people working for you?”

There was no flinch in Coulson's reply, not a single visible sign that he was shaken, although he had to be. 

“Well enough,” Coulson spoke, with an upward tilt of the lip. 

“How is it possible, then, that two of them,” Agent Hand turned towards the glass, “obviously have children you didn't know about?”

Not a line on Coulson's face moved, but his expression somehow became cold and hard. 

“What is this really about?” 

It wasn't a question. There was a shift, like something heavy dropping and pushing all air out of the room. 

“Someone, somehow breached all our security systems and those two children appeared in Operations yesterday. They claim their parents are two people from your team, which would imply those two people met long before you recruited them, wouldn't it? And that can lead to further interesting implications, considering that one of the two was associated with one of most dangerous underground hacking groups,” Hand turned to Grant and Skye, but she was again looking at him. Those interesting implications were pretty clear, but next to him Skye either didn't catch on or didn't care. 

“Did you just say, since yesterday? Children are here since _yesterday_?”

“Interesting that you should ask, after claiming they're not your children,” Hand commented. 

“They're _children_. Where did they spend the night? Did you lock them up like you did with us??” Skye was getting worked up in a completely different way, anger breaking out in waves around her. Grant put a hand on her shoulder to hold her in place, and she tried to shake it off, but his palm was steady against her. Agent Hand gave his gesture a pointed look, but at this moment he was ceasing to care. He looked at Skye and then chanced a glance at the room – the room – and did his best to take a detached, professional assessment of the situation. 

One boy was sitting next to Simmons, leaning against her, looking tired and sad. Simmons was stroking his hair. The older boy was sitting next to Fitz, saying something to the younger boy who looked discontent and Grant was momentarily assaulted with stream of images. Briefly, it was like being back in the past, straightening up in a plastic chair in dentist's office, defying the smell of antiseptic and pretending not to be afraid, but not for his own sake. 

_”You okay there, Sam?”_

_“I'll be brave just like you, Grant.”_

Funny how some things never went away. 

“Since you're denying that you're related to them,” Agent Hand said, this time looking at Skye, “I will be forced to hand them to social service workers once we clear up how they found themselves inside a top secret, highly protected facility.”

Grant could feel when Skye froze. He couldn't see Skye's face but he could imagine it well enough. 

“Skye -” Coulson's look turned lead when he looked at Agent Hand. “Those are serious accusations.”

“And this is a serious thing that happened.”

“Did you actually talk to the children?” Coulson asked. 

“Of course. They claim they were sent back in time.”

Skye snorted. “That makes more sense than claiming I had them _both_ before I turned twenty!”

Agent Hand turned to her and Grant. “I would very much prefer for things to start making sense, miss Skye. Right now,” Hand said. 

“Well have you asked them?” 

“About what?”

“Time travel,” Coulson interjected. Grant couldn't see the look she shot him when she turned. “Come on, Victoria. We've seen stranger things. Gravity upside down, people with super powers, super soldiers.... people coming back from the dead.”

“This is serious, Coulson.”

“And those are two children. They're not toys.”

“I know that.”

“Good. I wouldn't like to think otherwise.” 

 

*

 

When Skye was seven years old, there was a lady called Mrs. Hirsch. 

A seven year old Skye thought Mrs. Hirsch was very pretty; with her earrings and neatly pressed shirts. She always smelled nice and visited St. Agnes every Saturday. 

A seven year old Skye knew that Mrs. Hirsch was coming to meet little girls, and that one of them, one lucky girl would become her daughter. And Skye hoped with all might of her seven year old heart that her hair was long and pretty enough, and that one Saturday she would leave St. Agnes for good. 

That wasn't how the story went. 

There were a couple of things Skye was supposed to look up. Something about orbs and Egypt, but Fitz was already on it, after he told her with all consideration he could muster, that she could take a moment if she needed it.

Oh, she could use a moment or two. Mildly put. And she was pretty sure that if Ward was here (she wasn't sure where he was, but thought he was probably still staring at Simmons' results back in the briefing room) he'd tell her not to do this. And, just like many times before she didn't listen to him. 

The older boys' name was Andrew. He was so so obviously Ward's offspring. The smaller one, whose face Skye couldn't see all that well, Tom, was asleep on his brother's lap. She couldn't compare him to Andrew or Ward (or herself), so she continued to observe two boys on the couch. Somewhere in the future Skye had two sons. Somewhere in the future she had two kids with Grant Ward. _She_ had two kids. She was someone's mom. 

Skye rubbed her face, but her thoughts wouldn't stop running around in circles. Was she married? According to what boys said to Agent Sitwell and Agent Hand, she was (she was also an Agent, but she would think about that a bit later, yes, later), and not only that, she apparently took Ward's last name, which combined with her name sounded just ridiculous. Maybe people teased her for it? Except she was married and agreed to take someone's name, which was.... okay, no. No. There was a reason why Skye didn't have a last name. She didn't want a last name. So why would she change that? She also didn't really want to have children, but Jemma had been explaining, slowly, _twice_ what green highlighted things on her charts meant. Bright green for Skye and bright yellow for ward and two different charts composed of green and yellow for Andrew and Tom. She closed her eyes but the vibrant charts danced in front of her mind, so she made herself look. 

The thing was... the thing was.... It wasn't just the similarity. It was the way they sat there – or at least how Andrew was sitting - watching, observing, and Skye could imagine Ward as a child, being the mini adult to his younger brother and keeping the monsters away. All and any kinds of monsters. But she also knew that look; the fear and uncertainty of waiting for someone grown up who could make things better, while trying to be too brave for a child of eight or nine years. 

What would Ward tell her now? She desperately tried to call his voice to her mind, because she could use an advice how to handle this. Don't get attached? Don't invest yourself? How could she not? How could she move herself from here at all? That boy in there hoped for someone to help him, and all the grownups that he knew (in the future, how ridiculous was that), or thought he knew had more important jobs to do; or they were trying to wrap their heads around the fact that Andrew and Tom were somehow here. Skye remembered braiding her hair every Saturday. Remembered wearing her prettiest dress, not that she had many, and imagined Ward trying to be the bravest big brother in the world. If he was doing his don't-get-attached thing, she couldn't. She just couldn't. She wiped her eyes and walked out of the room, crossing the three steps distance to another door. Maybe she'll have to hack it. Maybe this was completely wrong. She swiped her card through the reader, expecting an alarm to sound, but the door hissed open instead. If someone ranked high enough expected her to do this and decided to allow it, she would think about the implications later. 

Skye entered the room and met Andrew's eyes.

He looked at her and she stopped. He looked like Ward, strikingly so, but recognition on a completely different level happened instantly. She thought she could see a seven year old Skye, in her bright dress and with braided hair waiting for someone and fearing if they would ever come. Was it possible to hand your child a fear like that? Andrew was looking at her with expectation, with too much awareness, and like he was waiting for the shoe to drop; like he knew he and his little brother weren't safe even though there was someone with his mother's face. 

No, she thought. That was not how this story was going to happen. 

“Hi,” she said, realizing that she was scared as hell. The boy didn't say anything. He just looked at her as if he was asking could he come home. “Andrew, right?” Skye asked. 

“Yeah,” he answered and she could see worry and fear lessen just a fraction. 

“I think you know me?” she offered. He nodded as his smile grew a bit more, familiar smile only with less edges, and before she could think it through she came closer, until she could lower herself in front of him. He looked like a content child, a boy someone loved and cared for, all of Ward's features softened and refined on his face. “Yep,” he said. “I know you.”

Skye knew she should have said something – something smart, assuring, cool; something to let him know that he was safe, but at that moment Tom woke up. Entirety of his bleary eyed longing fixed on her in an instant, and there was nothing alike to Andrew's reaction. He smiled like sunshine, because everything was finally all right, wasn't it? All Skye could do was stare back at her own smile. 

“Mommy,” was what Tom said when he saw her, and slipped down from the couch and straight into Skye's arms.

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which team discusses further course of action and Agent Ward is distracted. Also, his teammates are not helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for casual butchering of science and archaeology. (I blame Stargate. It ruined me.)

“If I wrote this to myself, I figured I better do what I said,” Leo reasoned, producing the handwritten note from his sleeve. Agent May raised an eyebrow, but beneath the flat expression Leo thought he could see something else. If he was Skye and situation was less bizarre (except, when were their situations anything but bizarre?) that something could have been amusement. At some point he learned that May wasn't above breaking the rules if that meant getting the job done. 

“What is that, Agent Fitz?” Coulson looked somehow wrong, even though his suit and tie were impeccable. Ward, next to him, looked a bit catatonic and Leo wouldn't enjoy being in his spot at all. 

“Coordinates, Sir,” Leo replied, typing the string of numbers and letters into a computer program. 

“What kind of coordinates?”

“Apparently, they designate the location where -” Leo paused and looked at Ward, trying to decide if his paleness was normal or not. He couldn't really tell. “My future self and, uh, future Agent Ward found an object that could be an alien artifact.” 

“Future self,” Ward repeated incredulously. Leo sighed. For the time being he didn't have a better explanation to any of this, and in Leo's opinion, it was the only solid theory they could run with, for the time being. Yet, Ward was looking exceedingly cranky. 

“The same one who seems to have a pair of kids,” Leo ventured. “You, not me.”

“Fitz,” Jemma sighed next to him. “This really isn't the time or place -”

But Leo was distracted by something more important than Jemma's words or Ward's crankiness. “It is in Egypt,” Leo muttered. “Just like the boys said.” 

“That proves nothing,” Ward replied, somehow managing to look even more stiff. 

“Still, it's a piece of information,” Leo sighed in return. “And the information we have so far is following – these coordinates, where this supposed weapon was found -”

“- and also, the information that there are two pieces of this weapon, two different orbs,” Simmons added, providing focus amongst confusion. Leo looked at her thankfully. 

“Orb of order and Orb of chaos,” he continued. “Future us used to posses Orb of Chaos, but we don't any more. Bad guys, as children put it, are in possession of other Orb, and they're after us,” he said. “Future us.” 

“And apparently, the only thing that can match one weapon is the other,” Jemma supplied. “We just have to find it, and if we did that once -” Others were giving her a look of question, but Jemma explained before Leo was able to. “The boys have said that Ward's and Fitz's supposed future selves have found weapon at these coordinates, and they have said the location is in Egypt.”

“Where in Egypt?” Ward asked, probably needing something tangible to focus onto. 

“Abydos,” Leo said, at which ward frowned. 

“Archeological site?” Ward asked. 

“Well, it's certainly not the one from Stargate,” Leo replied. “The burial site of the first dynasty pharaohs, lots of tombs, a mention – worthy memorial temple and few more locations still being researched,” Leo counted. “which is probably where we should go and look at.”

“It sounds like a regular archeological site,” Jemma remarked. 

“Well, that one in Peru was regular and unremarkable until -”

“We get the point, Agent Fitz,” May said. 

“Why would we go investigate an archeological site?” Ward asked. “The ...other us,” he added. 

“Well it's obvious. Or at least semi obvious,” Leo said. “We went to Peru because of an 0-8-4, which was man made. We could be dealing with a similar possibility here, someone might have called in an 0-8-4 or already discovered this object and activated it, and if it's as dangerous as it sounds, we should definitely find it. -”

“Before someone else with more information does,” May interjected suddenly. Everyone looked at her. She gave a one shoulder shrug and looked at Coulson. “I have seen a lot of archived files about Nazi related searches for alien artifacts in Egypt.”

“Red tape?” Coulson muttered. 

“Not always,” May said. 

“Nazi related documents?” Jemma asked. 

“During the World War two Nazis were big on finding anything with any kind of occult properties. Ascribed or real,” May explained. “There was a branch of military research that got out of hand after they discovered the Tesseract.”

“HYDRA,” Coulson supplied. 

“Of course,” Jemma said. 

“Next thing, we're going to run into Indiana Jones,” Leo said as he typed. All he was managing to pull up was the basic information about Abydos and ongoing research in the area. “We need Skye to get us more information than this.” 

“Where is she?” Coulson asked. Nobody seemed to know, except Jemma who looked like she wasn't thrilled about sharing. 

“Well Skye called me and -” 

“And?” Ward asked impatiently. Jemma gave him an apologetic look.

“The boys were hungry, so.... she took them to the Bus,” Jemma supplied. May pressed her lips, and Coulson's face wasn't exactly disapproving, as much as it was concerned. Ward flinched. “She is their mother,” Jemma's explanation didn't seem to help at all. “That's what _they_ think.”

“Well, she's not.... yet,” Leo said. Ward glared at him. Leo glared back. 

“You sound certain it... will happen,” Ward crossed his arms and glanced aside, like he needed someone to tell him this was all a bad dream. “Can't you, I don't know... fake the results of the test?”

Jemma sighed, giving Ward a patient look reserved for people who couldn't grasp the barest basics of genetics, which, in Jemma's world, was an unforgivable thing. Or intolerable at least. 

“You could theoretically change a DNA of one person by giving them a bone marrow of another person. It would lead to production of cells filled with DNA of the donor. However, that can not be the case here, because one would have to possess DNA material of two separate male individuals who are yours and Skye's biological descendants. The other possibility is … stealing reproductive cells from both of you, in vitro insemination -”

“Okay, stop,” Ward said. “I get the point.”

“Nine months plus several years for those children to grow. Plus teaching them your mannerisms, for instance. Something that’s learned through observation and modeling,” Leo supplied. “I get that you're upset but if something's behind all this -”

“There is something behind all this,” Coulson deadpanned. 

“Or someone,” May added, giving Ward a look which didn't seem to help much. His jaw clenched. “Until we find out what it is, we have to deal with the situation the best we can. _Entire_ situation.” 

“All things considered, I don't think those children will be safer anywhere else than on the plane,” Coulson added. 

“While we're looking for a potentially destructive alien weapon?” Ward asked. 

“Which they might have seen,” Leo said grimly. 

“That's _wonderful_ reasoning, Fitz,” Ward said. 

“Maybe. But consider this, Agent Ward. If they are truly your future self's children, how big a danger would it take for Future Ward to send them back to the past to Now Ward?”

*

Here was the deal – Grant designed his life in a specific way, and it suited him just fine. He didn't plan on getting married, he didn't _want_ to get married or have a family. Family was a heartbreaking deal, and doing it once was enough. Nobody could convince him that _this_ was somehow his future. 

“You're allowed to feel uncomfortable,” May said as she walked towards the plane beside him. He wanted to say he didn't feel uncomfortable, but straightening his shoulders and clenching his jaw weren't helping the matter. 

“I'd prefer if someone told me how I'm supposed to think about this,” he said. 

“And feel,” May added. She sure knew how to deliver a blow, verbal or literal one. He looked at her, to find himself on a receiving end of a _deal with it_ kind of look. He sighed. Feeling was distracting. He wanted to set all of that aside and deal with it later. If possible. Grant suspected the answer to that question would be negative. 

“It would be nice,” Grant finally said. 

“I know,” they were nearing the ramp of the plane. If he was someone else, Fitz for instance, he'd be allowed to grab Simmons' arm. If he was Skye, he'd be allowed to grab anyone's arm. It would be nice to have something to hold onto. “You're allowed to feel uncomfortable.”

“Thanks a lot, but that doesn't really help.” They paused just before the ramp. May gave him another look, which he wasn't able to read; however her face was less hard than he was used to seeing. He could hear Skye's voice in his head, saying how he should socialize more and reduce his ginormous feeling of responsibility for everyone's safety. And she'd say that while rolling her eyes and giving him a smirk that would most surely annoy him. 

And he was supposed to believe that in some future he ended up marrying her? Right. 

“That's because you think you should have all the answers,” May replied. “You shouldn't and you can't.”

“Well thank you doctor Freud,” Grant wasn't sure should he be pissed off, frustrated or both. May's lips quirked up and her eyes softened with understanding. He felt a bit of relief. 

“There's nothing to punch at the moment,” May said, and granted, she was three steps ahead of him as usual. “But that's not the only thing you can do.” 

“It's not,” he repeated. 

“No,” she said and started to walk up the ramp. Grant felt like he was supposed to finish the thought she left unsaid. He followed May inside the plane, crossing the ramp in few long strides and telling himself that the lump in his stomach didn't matter. This was just another mission (granted – another insane mission), and that he would deal with unusual circumstances, just like he did with other examples bordering insanity. 

He crossed the makeshift gym, glanced towards the empty lab and wished someone was here. Ahead of him May climbed the spiraling staircase, in the direction of the cockpit and then left him to his own devices. He paused, halfway up, registering the voices above his head. Going anywhere but towards Fitz and Simmons debating would be cowardice, and Grant wasn't a coward. He was aware that Skye had spent several hours with the children, alone, just as he was aware said children would be spending some time with the team. Skye's reaction regarding the children aside, the thought of leaving the boys at the Hub wasn't a comfortable one. Grant knew that Skye had spent hours with the boys while he stood next to Coulson in Agent's Hand office, being less useful than he wanted to. When Coulson stated the team would take care of the boys, Agent Hand just gave him a look. 

“We know what we're doing,” Coulson said, and that was it. 

Grant wished he had a clue what to do. 

The conference room to his left was silent, and the only light on was in the living area. Fitz was sitting in a chair with his laptop on his knees and Simmons on the chair's arm next to him. Grant's eyes carefully crossed to the couch, but no matter how much he braced himself for just another weird thing happening to him, it wasn't quite enough. It wasn't just another weird thing. Simmons' charts flashed through his mind again. It was much easier to write it off as something they'd eventually find an explanation for when he was staring at a piece of paper, and not two children who were peacefully sleeping next to Skye. 

And what were they supposed to do with the children? Yes, certainly, the boys both had some sort of bracelets made out of technology Fitz couldn't explain, and said bracelets were apparently set up to count down time – but what if nothing happened after that countdown was done? What should they do then? He suddenly wondered if this was how people felt when unplanned pregnancies happened, and considering everything he did with his life, it was _not_ a thing that was supposed to happen to _him_. 

Except. 

“Hey,” Grant said as everyone looked at him – everyone except Fitz, who just raised a hand of uninterested acknowledgment and kept staring at his screen. “Did you find out anything new?”

Skye glanced at him, looking tired and somehow distant. He tried not to stare; he noticed the resemblance even before, but now, from up close he could see what Fitz already mentioned – that the older child resembled him. The boy shifted against Skye's thigh and her eyes dropped to him, unusually gentle. The smaller one slept at the other end of the couch, and as far as Grant could see, his face was round, made of softer lines, familiar as well … it was like Skye's. 

“We're trying,” Fitz said. 

“We're still looking into May's lead. If you can call an information older than fifty years a lead,” Skye supplied as she typed. “There's just so much of old files to look through.”

“What are we after?” Grant asked, because he needed to focus on this. If they were going after a weapon of alien making, or simply a very powerful man made weapon, there would be someone else looking for it as well. 

“Well, considering that boys described it as an orb that destroys things -” Fitz looked up. 

“We're after an orb that destroys things,” Grant sighed. Wonderful. 

“The bad guys are apparently after us because of it. Future us,” Skye clarified. Grant wished everyone would just stop making references to the future. Future didn't happen yet. All of this didn't make any sense. “Where were you anyway?” she asked, like he shouldn't have been away. The worst thing was, something inside his chest stung, but he pushed the notion of it aside. Instead he felt himself getting irrationally annoyed, and he was about to tell her that this mission needed solving, which meant figuring out what was actually happening, and that couldn't be done while babysitting children they most certainly did _not_ have. If there was an orb that could destroy things and bad guys after it, then they should find it before the bad guys do. 

“Hey I think I just -” Fitz started but then something else happened. The boy sleeping next to Skye woke up, and after a moment of rubbing his eyes and looking around, his gaze settled on Grant. 

“Huh,” the boy said, looking at Grant long and serious. “You look different.”

“Oh?” was all Grant was able to say, because his throat was suddenly very and uncomfortably tight. He didn't miss Skye's hand on boy's shoulder, or the look in her eyes; like she was ready and willing to do anything if anyone, including Grant, said something hurtful. 

“Yeah,” there was something familiar in the way boy was looking at him, and it reminded Grant of things he didn't like to remember. He tried to school his expression, make it more open, less drawn and detached. He knew that look, he knew how it felt on his own face. 

“How so?” Grant asked and tired to smile, looking at child's dark hair and eyes and the tiny indentation in his chin. 

“You don't have -” the boy pressed his lips a bit and ran his hand along the side of his face and through his hair. 

“What,” Skye asked, encouraging him with a smile. “A beard?”

The boy shook his head. “Nope. White hair.”

“White – what?”

“It's more like silvery,” the boy said. Skye's eyes went huge at that. 

“Oh, don't say! He has grey hair?” the boy nodded with a conspiring smile, and another pang happened. How was she able to do that? And why couldn't he? 

“You always say it proves he's not a robot,” the boy said, and Grant flinched, both at the way it was spoken, and the fact that he knew something like Skye's pet name for him when she wanted to annoy him. He caught the boy studying him, or rather he was studying the boy, completely at loss for what to say next. 

“I don't think you guys have met,” Skye said, like she was able to sense what was going though his head. She nudged the boy a bit, and he sat up and then flopped down to the floor. Tall for a nine year old, if he was nine year old like Fitz said; taller than Grant had been at the same age. “This is Andrew,” Skye said. 

“Hey Andrew,” Grant said and tired to smile, because the concerned look on child's face was bit too much like a reminiscence of his own childhood. 

“Hello.... dad,” the boy said. “Uh, I mean, I know you're not my dad. You just look like him.” 

“He's not your dad yet,” Skye's hands settled onto the boy's shoulders. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Grant could hear May's voice telling him he was allowed to feel uncomfortable. Even though it was a wonderful advice, and probably true, it thoroughly failed to help him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which present and future Grant struggle and Agent May helps out and makes some practical plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry about the stall, you guys. RL happened, and stole my inspiration, time and energy. I hope you'll like this one, and please forgive me possible mistakes. Writing and editing don't mix well with headache, sneezing and stuffed nose. Thank you all for so many wonderful replies! :)

Save it for a rainy day, ch 4

*

*

Fifteen years from now

“ _ **Fitz!** ”_

_“Coming! Bloody hell, no need to shout!”_

_From the corner of his eye Grant could see the short man emerge from the room, carrying too much equipment for the size of his arms – but God forbid anyone tell him that._

_“Do you prefer me shouting, or getting ourselves shot at? We need to-”_

_“I **know** ,” years managed to give Fitz some greyish hair, but didn't help with his nerves. “Where are the -?”_

_“Here, Uncle Fitz,” Andrew said, peering out from behind the table. Tom was next to him and both were staring at Grant, scared. **Shit**. Somewhere outside and too close for Grant's liking an explosion sounded. Secure building, my ass, Grant thought and planned to speak to Tony Stark about his supposedly unbreakable systems at some future point. Right, future. And past. Grant took a deep breath, trying to think of another solution, but there wasn't any. Fitz threw a look at Grant. _

_“I am sure,” Grant made himself say._

_“No, you're not,” Fitz was digging through his box of technical wonders until he pulled out two bracelets. “But it's not like we have damn lot of choices.”_

_“Third?” Grant asked pointing at the bracelets, ignoring the panic inside his head._

_“Skye has it,” Fitz said. Grant nodded, crouching down and noting that at some point he must have hit his right knee, but for the time being he ignored the pain. His sons needed attention more than his leg._

_“Dad?” Andrew noticed. Not surprising at all._

_“I hit my knee,” Grant said. There was no use lying to Andrew, or trying to dismiss the look on his face. Grant looked up at Fitz, who handed him the bracelet. His nine year old stared at him like a soldier. “I'll be fine,” Grant managed to add a smile. Nothing messed up a child like seeing his parent shot at, even if it wasn't as dangerous as it looked, but there was no use for guilt right now. Skye would smack him upside the head and remind him about nobody being spared of awful things, and she'd be correct. Neither of them would chose a different lifestyle. They had to be world's worst parents, but that debate could wait. “You know what this is, right?” Grant asked, pointing at the bracelets._

_Andrew nodded. Grant hated himself. “Yes, dad.”_

_Andrew offered his hand. “You'll be fine,” Grant took a deep breath, bringing back the memories. Fitz breaking apart his brand new communicator, Simmons swabbing inside of his cheek, himself putting a paper bag over Skye's head. The battleship. Those days. God help them. “We'll send you someplace safe.”_

_“Wh -where?”_

_“To the Hub,” Grant said. “Lots of years ago.”_

_“Before we were born?” Tom asked, offering his hand like it was a game. He was barely six, and everything still was a game. Grant didn't remember if he ever had that as a child, but he had his sons to teach him. He swallowed tightly and fastened the bracelet on Tom's hand._

_“Before you were born,” Grant nodded._

_“Who will be there?”_

_“Well, me,” Grant started, thinking back to his old self. If he remembered correctly (and he did) thirty - two year old Grant Ward was going to freak out like nobody's business. “And your mom. She had a long hair then.”_

_“Ooh.” Tom's eyes went wide. “How long?”_

_Grant smiled, tapping boy's nose with his finger. Things were always easier with Tom. Maybe it was Skye's smile on his face, maybe it was the fact that he always smiled and insisted there was a brighter side to everything. “Very long. Waist long, like in those pictures you like.”_

_“Ooooooh,” Tom said._

_There, Grant thought. Someone was successfully distracted. “And who else?” Tom asked further as Grant shared a look with Andrew, trying to relate reassurance._

_“Uncle Fitz and Auntie Jemma. And Uncle Phil and Auntie May.”_

_“And will you all look differently?” Tom asked further._

_“A bit,” Grant said, catching Fitz's look. They both had less white in their hair back then – none, in fact - but Skye was determined that it only made them only look better._

_“Will you still be tall?” Tom asked. Andrew sighed and Grant smiled. “Sure, buddy. I was done growing way before then,” he said, looking at Andrew who bit his lip apologetically. “I need you boys to look after each other. Are you gonna do that for me and mom?”_

_Tom smiled. Andrew nodded, trying not to look scared. If Skye was here, then she would give them both a hug, he guessed, so Grant hugged Tom and then Andrew, not missing the tight, tight embrace he received in return._

_“You be brave for your brother, okay?” he whispered to Andrew, because he knew a sense of duty would work._

_“Yes, dad.”_

_Grant took him by the shoulders, his little responsible soldier – man wondering how was it even possible that this boy was his. “I'm going to be different,” he said, almost apologized. There wasn't really a good way to tell his son how much a young Agent Ward would be freaking out, if Grant's expectations were any close to being correct. “I might get scared, you know.”_

_That made Andrew curious because his dad was the bravest. That's at least how Skye explained it._

_“Of what, dad?”_

_Grant thought for a moment, and then the answer came, incredibly simple._

_“Of not knowing what to do,” he said. “Not knowing how to take care of you two and find the orb and fix everything.”_

_“Mom always says you don't have to fix things all alone,” Andrew reminded as Tom nodded along. Fitz grinned fondly, fiddling with the bracelets._

_“Mom's right,” Grant said, “I just didn't always listen to her.”_

_Tom grinned. “You should have! Mom is very smart.”_

_“I know that,” he said. Fitz produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over.“Now, guys. I want you to tell mom and Uncle Fitz and me everyone else everything you can remember about Abydos and the Orb -”_

*

Melinda sighed and gave a neat package on her nightstand one resolute look. Her niece wouldn't miss a teddy bear she didn't even know about. One little boy could probably use it, considering how much comfort the airplane could offer. Or more precisely, couldn't. Melinda unpacked the present carefully, folded the papers and put the orange ribbon to the side. Some day soon, she thought. Right now they wold have to refuel the plane before leaving to, presumably, Egypt, but before that they'd need to restock. Buy more food. Different food, too. Clothes for children. Things like slippers and pajamas and maybe toys. At the moment it didn't matter where the children came from. If they were on the plane, they should be cared for. The bear was soft in her hand, light brown, with a black nose and blue eyes. It stole a smile from her, a short one, before she could give in to missing all the people she tried not to miss. 

Melinda avoided the common area and stopped before Skye's bunk door. From inside, as expected, came voices. 

“Don't you know, like, any stories?” a voice asked, small and lively, most likely Tom's. 

“Well, I know a couple,” Skye was saying. “Which one do you like to hear?”

“The one where you and Auntie May saved Uncle Phil,” Tom answered. 

_Oh._

“That one?” Skye's voice carried surprise. “Who told you that one?”

“You did,” Andrew was speaking now. “Well, you, but in the future.” 

“I see,” Skye said. 

“This is weird,” Tom said. 

“Uncle Fitz says -”

“Andy,” the other boy complained. Probably rolled his eyes as well. “I _know_ what Uncle Fitz says.”

“Hey boys, it's okay,” Skye soothed, not sounding convinced herself. “So. How does that story go?”

“Well, you and Auntie May ran away and stole a car and broke a window, and then saved Uncle Phil from the bad guys,” Andrew explained. “Which works, but then dad keeps adding stuff like dragons.”

“Dragons??” 

“ _Everything_ is much better with dragons,” Tom added wisely. Skye laughed and behind the door Melinda smiled. 

“Dragons don't exist, Tom,” Andrew sighed, Ward's tone and annoyance matched to a T. 

“Pffft,” Tom was saying, “you know what Auntie Jemma says. Of course it's in your head but that doesn't mean it's not real.”

Harry Potter, Melinda thought and remembered she owned the books. Maybe in future they weren't waiting forgotten back in her New York apartment. 

“Says a book,” Andrew reasoned. 

“D'oh,” Tom argued back, loud and excited. “Books are awesome!”

Melinda smiled again. Maybe time travel really existed, maybe this was actually real – at any rate Melinda couldn't think of a better explanation to the puzzle. She knocked gently and a moment later Skye pulled the bunk door aside, just enough to see who it was. Melinda offered an expression she hoped was kind. 

“Agent May -” Skye begun, glancing down her clothes, looking a bit embarrassed about her worn shirt and teddy bear bottoms. Fitting, wasn't it? The girl looked out of her depth, but she was putting on the brave face. One could handle only so much wight on their shoulders. Melinda offered her the teddy bear. 

“I thought this might be helpful,” she said. Skye's eyes widened. “And if you'd like, I know a few stories with dragons. You could go and have a shower if you'd like.” 

Skye accepted the toy and smiled. It was a tight smile of someone who felt overwhelmed, yet reluctant to leave. Too responsible, too invested, but in this situation it was hard not to be. 

“Go,” Melinda said softly. “They'll be fine with me.” 

Skye nodded, and before she left she opened the door all the way. 

“Here's someone who knows all about dragons,” Skye said to two little faces that peered from under the covers. Melinda and was promptly greeted with shouting and jumping. Not the usual kind of greeting she received, but she had practice with her nieces, even if it was not often enough. Smiling came naturally as she sat down next to the boys. Skye handed her the teddy bear. 

“Who wants to talk about the dragons?” Melinda asked as boys crawled back under the covers. 

*

“Tom. Stop it!”

Grant thought he heard a voice followed by a giggle and felt someone touching his shoulder. He didn't move, didn't _want_ to move because he spent nearly twenty hours awake. They were up in the air, somewhere - he didn't know where exactly, and didn't want to know. He did plan to exercise, but he wasn't insane, or a masochist, contrary to popular belief. 

He was about to give in to his body's need for oblivion when someone poked his shoulder again. 

“Hmph,” he complained. 

There were more giggles. 

Childlike giggles. 

“Tom, don't do that, you _know_ what Uncle Fitz told us -” 

“But _dad_ told us -”

“Tom, you know what mom always says. Come on, _I'll_ make you a sandwich.”

“But I don't want _you_ to make me a sandwich. I want -”

“Tom,” the voice was exasperated. “Remember when Uncle Fitz told us that if we go back in the past, some things aren't like we know them?”

“I want daddy to make me a sandwich,” the other tiny voice insisted. 

Daddy. 

Grant was suddenly awake when he felt another gentle nudge. He opened his eyes with the feeling of dread, yet his eyes settled on a sight that prompted completely different sentiment. There was a small face above his, smiling brightly, like everything was all right with the world. 

“You woke him now,” Andrew said disapprovingly. The smaller boy ignored the older brother. 

“It's okay,” Grant said, momentarily aware of everything – older child's distress and the younger one smiling and the need for someone to make a sandwich. There was ten year old Grant in the back of adult Grant's mind when he pulled himself up, feeling his muscles protest, as Tom stood by, looking at him as if he were an absolute hero. “Okay, kiddo. What kind of sandwich do you want?” Grant asked, but Tom just looked at him. He followed Grant to the kitchenette like a tail – wagging puppy, pulled close a chair and climbed onto the counter as Grant was getting food out of the fridge. 

“Tom,” Andrew sighed. “You know dad doesn't like when you -”

“But you said five minutes ago he's not our dad,” Tom retorted. “He just looks like him.”

Grant held himself in check, but his mind was starting to protest. He could almost touch the discomfort in the air. When he was uncertain he played the big scary agent, which didn't seem like an appropriate strategy right now. His face felt stiff, like it was unable to form any other expression but unwelcoming neutrality. There were two children here, one looking scared and the other smiling with expectation. Grant didn't want to be a jerk to them, and he just wasn't sure he could pull it off. 

“It's okay,” he said to the older child as assuring as he could. “I just look like I'm always frowning,” he added. Tom's smile grew. “Would you like a sandwich?” 

Andrew nodded at that, worry slowly melting away from his face. Grant put himself to work, sensing how Andrew carefully approached, _his future son_. Grant's hands were steady enough to work on autopilot while he felt self aware like a a goddamn teenage boy. Future sons. For God's sake. 

“This good?” he asked, offering the first ham and cheese sandwich to Tom and the second to Andrew. They didn't say anything, but Tom wasn't moving his eyes off him, and Andrew smiled again; and Grant wasn't sure if he felt better or worse. He spoke six languages, he was taught to read people and manipulate them, yet two children had him completely out of his depth. He couldn't even put the feeling inside his chest to words. 

“Morning,” Skye's voice startled him all of the sudden. She was wearing yesterday's clothes again and looked like she didn't sleep at all. “If it's really morning.” 

“You know it's a relative term around here,” Grant said, starting to feel relieved, because the attention of the boys was instantly on her.

“Mom!” Tom put the sandwich aside and jumped off the counter, and Skye crouched, absorbing his hug like it was something she did since forever. Grant just stared. 

“Heya buddy,” she said. “Slow down, kiddo, I am still not awake. Did you sleep well?” she asked. Enthusiastic nodding was the response. 

“I slept great! It was just like at home,” he said. Skye looked at Andrew, whose tension seemed to disappear. 

“He kept kicking me,” said Andrew. 

“You _always_ complain,” Tom said, rolling his eyes in a manner that gave Grant a pang inside the chest. 

“Boys,” Skye said and the bickering deflated. Grant wasn't sure how that worked, and even though Skye didn't seem too confident herself, it still worked. “I think you should finish eating your breakfast. _At the table_ ,” she glanced at Grant, and honestly, he wouldn't think of that. He was just happy he'd done one thing right. Tom and Andrew went to the table, climbing the barstools, and keeping their eyes at two grown up people in the room. Grant drew a deep breath. When did some future him figure out he could do this? Because he couldn't do this. 

“I am in dire need of coffee,” Skye said then, throwing a pleading look at him. Oh. _Oh_. Okay, fine, he could do that. Just give him something to punch or a coffee to make. 

“Aren't you,” he said, moving to the coffee machine, and when Skye raised her eyebrow at him, he felt another strange surge of relief at something that normally annoyed him.

“Did you spend entire night reading about Osiris and different representations of Ra and mummification?” she asked. “Nah, didn't think so,” she said, pushing him aside to reach for Fitz's precious box of cookies. 

“Uncle Fitz will yell at you, mommy,” Tom advised with his mouth full. 

“Not if you don't tell on me,” Skye winked and Tom giggled and Andrew was just _watching_. “I worked very hard, so I think I deserve it,” Skye concluded, moving to steal Grant's half done sandwich and sit with the boys. 

“Hey -” 

“Now you stole dad's sandwich,” Tom grinned. 

“Because he wasn't quick enough to eat it,” Andrew added shyly, like it was a thing. Normally, Grant would complain, but right now he just … couldn't. Not when Skye smiled and Andrew looked like he was relieved. 

“You're right,” Grant said, “I wasn't.”

“Admitting defeat?” Skye asked, finishing Grant's food while his stomach protested. Grant debated his options realizing this was something he could do, this was a familiar territory where he could roll his eyes and pout and let her poke fun at him. “Another, please?” Skye asked. 

“Me tooooooo,” Tom sing songed, and well, there was someone who felt at home. Grant huffed and made more sandwiches, finished making the coffee and got himself to the table. 

It was weird. No, strike that, it was downright terrifying. If he could pick what to do, he'd pick jumping out of plane. Skye kept watching him as if she could read him. Maybe she could. Jumping out of the plane was not an option. 

“What?” he asked. Skye grinned. 

“You're not gonna ask me what I found out? Because I found something out.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Fitz brief the team about their findings. Let the treasure hunt begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short and serves as sort of a bridge to actual find - the - artifacts part of the story. Per usual, I did my best not to butcher history and mythology too badly. Also, in case you're wondering, my intention is to keep Ward's background as it is on the show, which means we'll run into John Garrett at some point, but since this story is canon divergence, you can expect Ward's plot twist to play out differently than on the show. 
> 
> Hope you like, and I'm sorry for the huge delay between the chapters. I was completely angst - ridden, thank you show (not).

*

 

“So, ancient Egyptians believed in bunch of gods,” Skye talked and typed at the same time. The big holo screen showed pictures of temples and statues, enough of everyone to start feeling dizzy. The children were in their common area drawing, which should be fine. Andrew said that Tom liked drawing, and also that he'd look after Tom. He looked so responsible. Was Ward that way when he was a kid? The disconcerting thing was, she believed him almost as if he wasn't a stranger in a tiny body. She was also feeling worried and personally responsible, and, oh dear God, interested in both of those tiny strangers. 

Which shouldn't have been happening. Right?

Fitz coughed and she realized she stopped talking. Ward was staring at her.

“A deity for practically anything,” Fitz added helpfully and brought her back from her thoughts. “Several of them pretty aggressive, though -”

Ward, typically, sighed and gave Skye a slightly pointed look. “That's actually an important point,” Skye said, addressing him. “It may seem like a chaotic religion, but one thing they firmly believed in was order,” she continued and pulled up a painting of Ra. “They believed their gods were responsible for keeping the nature in balance -”

“And keeping the nature in balance allowed life on Earth to continue,” Fitz added. 

“How does that help us?” Coulson asked. “Since one of the weapons -”

“Orb of Order, I know,” Skye said. “We'll get there. Mythology first. This is Ra, god of almost everything.”

Fitz groaned. “A bit of precision, yes? The sun deity, the god who ruled the day, and overall balance of life in mind of ancient Egyptians.”

“Who's their god of the night?” Ward asked. 

“Glad that you asked,” Fitz said and gave Ward an evil little smirk. “Because that's the most interesting thing. Each night Ra went down into the Underworld and was swallowed by the giant serpent called Apophis -”

“The Stargate bad guy?” May asked. All heads instantly turned to her. She raised an eyebrow. “I don't live under a rock.”

“Ra fights Apophis every night, wins, sun rises, balance between night and day stays intact,” Skye recited. “Except they had different stories about how Ra wins, in which different other deities help him.” 

“Osiris for instance,” Fitz said. “Ra defeats Apophis with Osiris' help, and that's the bit that interests us,” Skye pulled up another series of pictures, or more precisely, drawings on papyrus. 

“Oh,” May said. 

“Seen them before?” Coulson asked. She pressed her lips tight. 

“Not only that, I know whom they belonged,” she said, making the team turn their heads towards her. “Erwin Rommel.”

Fitz's mouth dropped. “Wait, are you saying -”

“The Erwin Rommel,” May said. “We're not sure how he acquired them. Probably someone from Afrika Korps found these and Rommel was ordered to send them further, however he refused.” 

“He refused?” Ward asked. May nodded. 

“He refused a lot of things. It eventually got him killed,” May observed. Skye wasn't sure what May was talking about, but Ward, of course, nodded sagely. 

“Brief history of World Ward the second,” he said, hands braced against the table. “Rommell was among best German military commanders then. He was also very by the book, respecting the rules of war sort of a soldier. He didn't approve of Hitler's politics, he didn't torture prisoners... His troops didn't commit war crimes, because Rommell punished that kind of behavior. Which is why this is strange -”

“His troops didn't steal things,” May agreed. 

“Then how did he got these?” Fitz asked. 

“That we don't know,” May said. “But he was ordered to send them to Hitler, and he didn't.” 

“Why?” Simmons asked. 

“This one represents Eye of Ra,” Skye pointed to the left. “The other one is aptly called Eye of Apep.”

“Apophis,” Fitz clarified. “And these could easily be the artifacts we're after.”

Coulson frowned. “That feels a bit like jumping a conclusion.”

“We're aware, Sir,” Fitz said. “However after going through the database, this is the thing that grabbed our attention the most.”

“The information that ended up in hands of a prominent German officer who refused to send it to his commander,” Skye said, “And we know that Germans were after any artifacts with alleged destructive powers. We also know that other ancient time deities turned out to be aliens with very real, very destructive artifacts, so -”

“So that would mean we're after Eye of Ra and Eye of Apep,” Coulson summed up. “Anyone up for a treasure hunt?” Fitz looked at Skye and grinned, but stopped promptly after he saw Ward's instructing frown. May sighed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grant Ward gets his first real taste of acting like someone's dad and Simmons is worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can sum this one up as "all the feels". And more Skye & Ward and boys. :)

“We need a proper Egyptologist,” Simmons advised. “Ra was worshiped all over the Egypt. We'd have to literally search everything, except if someone could clue us in where those drawings came from -”

Coulson stopped before entering his office and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

“Duly noted, Simmons. We will need some supplies first,” he said. 

“Right. Food, proper clothing, also, vaccinations -” she rambled. 

Coulson wondered if his face showed how exasperated he felt. He didn't even think about vaccinations, but of course, Simmons was right. Also, children. They couldn't just drop them off somewhere – not that keeping the children with them was much safer, but his gut was telling him it was the right thing to do. 

“Toys,” he added with slight disbelief. The younger boy had ran up to him earlier and called him _Uncle Phil_ , and that wasn't how Coulson imagined his new assignment would go.

“Right, Sir,” Simmons agreed. “Toys.”

She was wringing her hands. Coulson sighed and reached to pat her on the shoulder – not that there was a policy against it, but after ten months of living on a plane some things changed. May said once this team was a lot like a kindergarten at times. _And you're secretly enjoying it_ Coulson had said in return. May had rolled her eyes, but he could see right through it. 

“Sir,” Simmons said, her face drawn. 

“What is it Simmons?” 

“I have a... rather bad feeling about this, Sir.”

Coulson gave her his most patient look. It wasn't his spot to comfort her, but speaking of those things that had changed, he couldn't treat anyone on the plane as chess pieces – in fact he never even tried so. _It would get you into trouble_ , Nick Fury used to say. Well then. Bring on the trouble. 

“Anything that's worrying you in particular?”

“Skye,” Simmons said. “She's having a hard time with this.” 

*

Grant was trying to work his way through the pile of notes Skye and Fitz had made when he heard the voices – not just voices, but actual shouting. 

“It's mine!”

“No, it's mine! Mom!! Tell him it's mine!”

“No, Tom, mom gave it to me!”

“Not true, mom said it's for both of us!”

Grant closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Apparently they were back, and boy, did shopping for toys always end with impeding world war three? 

“Boys!” Skye said, louder than he expected her. “We didn't get those so you'd fight over them.”

“I don't want to fight, but he won't give it to me!”

“Leave me alone, Tom, you're so annoying sometimes!”

“Boys, _please_ stop that!”

Grant sat up. There was something about her tone that he wasn't used to hearing. Helplessness, he figured, finding himself standing up and opening the door to his bunk. He reached the common area in several long strides. The room looked like it exploded with things, with two upset boys in the middle. Skye was trying to get them to calm, but it seemed that everything she was trying only worked to make her more upset. He was standing there uncomfortably, without anyone minding him when it happened. Tom was determined to get the Hulk figure and he launched himself at Andrew full force. Skye tried to grab them, but they landed on the floor, thankfully missing the table. From that moment Grant didn't think – he was over there in a second, not hearing a thing over the blood rushing in his ears. His hands were separating the boys and Skye was next to him instantly, holding the younger one, whose eyes were full of indignant tears. 

Andrew sat up and crawled backwards, furiously wiping away his face, and the way his face looked, the way hurt was spilling form his expression turned Grant's stomach into a knot. He knew that feeling. 

“Hey,” he said, reaching out to the child who hugged his knees and buried his face against them. Grant looked at Skye, who was holding Tom, looking as lost as he felt. “Hey, Andrew? Talk to me,” Grant tried. 

It took a few moments until the boy answered. “It's not fair, Tom, not fair. Dad told me to look after you and I promised -,” he broke into childlike sobs. “Why are you being such a jerk!”

There was something about it that Grant couldn't articulate, but it made him freeze in spot. Now Tom was crying too and Grant's chests tarted to hurt, and things flashed in front of his eyes, things he preferred not thinking about. 

Skye had Tom. He was clinging to her, dearly, and Andrew was curling into himself and sobbing. It was not a matter of math. Skye's eyes were upset, her expression asking for his help, and even though he was so bad at this, he couldn't just leave. 

So what were you supposed to do with a crying child? Comfort it, right? “Andrew,” Grant said as softly as he could and sat on the floor next to him. Was he supposed to hug him? Andrew wasn't his child. Actually, no, that wasn't quite correct (wasn't correct at all), but there was another thing – Grant Ward, possibly older and wiser one, was Andrew's father. Grant placed a hand on Andrew's shoulder then, rubbed his back, squeezed gently his arm. The boy sobbed less and seemed to relax. Grant looked at Skye. Tom had his little arms around her neck and his face against her shoulder. Skye took a deep breath, looking worried and nodded. 

“Hey, buddy,” Grant said, gently shaking the older boy. “Come here.”

Andrew hesitated. The look on his face was something Grant had seen in a mirror. Was he afraid? _Is he afraid just like I was?_ Grant tried to smile, tried his best when his chest was contracting painfully. “It's okay, come here,” he offered with an inviting hand. Andrew scooted over and then leaned into him. It's been ages since he hugged someone so small and gentle; it was strange hugging a little boy who looked like Grant himself. And because it somehow didn't seem to feel complete, Grant lifted him, worried that he might have been doing it wrong, but Andrew seemed to catch on. He crawled into Grant's lap and buried his face against Grant's neck and held on. “I'm so sorry dad. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I promised -”

“Shhh. It's okay. We all feel a bit... overwhelmed sometimes.”

He felt Andrew nodding and looked at Skye. For a moment there he couldn't read her expression, but her eyes felt familiar and warm and she nodded, as if she knew he had no clue about this. Grant closed his eyes and held the boy tighter. He felt he absolutely needed to say one thing. One important, important thing. His future sons or not, he had to say it. 

“Never hit your brother,” he tried to keep his voice soft. “You too, Tom. You shouldn't do that to each other.”

Skye leaned her cheek against Tom's hair. “Dad is right,” she said. Grant closed his eyes, feeling that something inside him was twisting and threatening to crumble away. She probably should refer to two of them as mom and dad, but that felt like a losing battle. It was what the boys were expecting of them, and Grant had no idea, no idea at all how to do it. “Are we calmer now?” she asked. Tom parted from her to give her a serious look and solemn nod. 

“Andy?” he said in thin voice. Andrew peeled his face away from Grant's neck. 

“Yeah?”

“I'm very very sorry,” Tom said, aiming a pleading look at his brother. Andrew let go of Grant and slid down to the floor. 

“Me too,” he said. Tom nodded. 

“You can have the Hulk.”

“You can have it too,” Andrew answered. Suddenly, Tom threw himself at Andrew with a crushing hug. 

“You're the best big brother ever.” 

*

Skye felt exhausted. She had done everything she planned, and yet it wasn't the good kind of exhaustion that came with completing a task. Supplies were packed, there was a list of archeological sites which they could use as possible starting points, cross referenced with movements of Afrika Korps through Egypt. There was a box of toys in her bunk and another box filled with children clothes and shoes. 

She pulled the covers over the pair of brothers and a green Hulk figure between them. She straightened and rubbed her lower back, feeling like some kind of cliché. What was it like to actually be a mother? Exhausting for sure, but maybe not as scary as this, because you had at least some time to adjust to the idea of being one. She turned around to leave and curl up on the couch when she realized Ward was standing at the door to her bunk. She jumped. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted -” he gestured vaguely towards the boys looking spectacularly awkward. 

“They're okay,” Skye said, picking up her pillow. “Better than me, for sure. Showered, dressed, tucked in -”

There had to be some kind of giveaway on her face, because his expression fell. Skye rubbed her face, realizing he looked exhausted as well. “You guys prepared everything?”

Ward sighed. “As much as possible,” he said. “Simmons gave you your shots?” 

Skye nodded. “My arm still hurts.”

He twisted his mouth into a half smile and nodded. His eyes were constantly skipping to the boys. 

“Hey about that thing earlier,” she started and could practically see him freak out and draw in, and yeah, that had to be a major freak out moment for someone like him. But something else happened there too, like... seeing him crack. Only he seemed still whole. Or even, more whole than he had been. More real. “That was great. I mean it. You were great.”

Skye could see his eyes go wide. “I mean it, Ward,” she stepped closer and he moved to let her go through the door. Facing Grant Ward always made her feel physically tiny, but right now he felt small, looking down at his hands and trying to hide that he had no clue how to act. “And I don't know what I'm doing either.”

He looked up. “You seem to say all the right things.” 

“Doesn't mean I'm not terrified,” she said, looking behind her, then back at him. “So... thanks. You were great.” 

“I'm glad I could help,” he said. Skye nodded and shuffled towards the common area and the couch. Her blanket was already there. Ward followed. 

“Skye?” 

She turned around to see him scratching the back of his head, seeming much less composed than the guy she met ten months ago. 

“I felt it was my responsibility,” he said, like he didn't understand and needed to. She hugged the pillow closer to her chest. 

“I know the feeling.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another future flashback. Ward has important conversations with Skye, Coulson and himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do this one for awhile now, and wanted to write it so badly. It's set in future, and should give you some insight into Grant's backstory (as I'm incorporating his Garrett and Hydra plot twist into this), but also, it should give you an idea what it was like for him and Skye to become parents in the first place. You can weigh this bit of information against what the boys are like and how they turned out. Also, I loved writing Grant's conversation with Coulson. 
> 
> I'm just having so much fun with this, and I hope you'll enjoy it :)

_Six years in the future_

There was dust in Grant's hair, in his mouth and all over him, but he didn't bother with going to shower and change. Taking down a Hydra cell this time literally meant taking it down, to its grounds. Of course there's been dust. Fitz was limping after him, but not complaining. Grant made a mental note to apologize later, but hearing from Simmons that Skye was in the infirmary took priority. Besides, Fitz was worried himself. 

The base was bustling with people. He bumped into someone and just carried on his way, while Fitz shouted apologies. He knew he should calm down, but he had a bad feeling in his gut. Two narrow halls later, Grant could see the infirmary door, and there wasn't a force strong enough to keep him out. Nobody tried either – actually one of the nurses pointed to a separate diagnostics room after giving him a once over. 

“Maybe you should have changed,” Fitz said, following. Grant didn't mind him, but opened the door and met the rest of the team inside. Skye was sitting on a gurney, looking unharmed. His relief was short because her and Jemma's reactions were immediate. Jemma was louder. 

“Fitz! Ward!” 

“It's nothing,” Fitz said. “Jemma, it's nothing. What's wrong with Skye?” 

Grant looked at May, whose expression wasn't as guarded as usual in these type of situations, but he wasn't sure what to make of her overtly emotional look. Coulson looked composed, but there was an edge to his expression, like something definitely not being in the right place. 

“Nothing's wrong with Skye, but there's obviously something wrong with your foot,” Jemma said and grabbed Fitz's arm, ushering him out. May and Coulson followed. Skye remained seated where she was, looking slightly pale and … anxious?

“Are you -” Grant started but before he could finish, she told him what was the matter. 

“I'm pregnant,” she said in one breath. 

He wasn't sure he heard it well and gave her a puzzled look. “You're -?”

“Pregnant,” she repeated, looking at him with lips pressed together. “You know, birds and bees and when two people really love each other very much – crap.” 

He stared. Stood there and stared. And she licked her lips, nervous and needing him to say something. “You know, the thing where I get a huge stomach and become gross and nine months later -”

“Skye,” he finally managed. 

“Yep, still me,” her voice was packed with nervousness. He managed to come closer, so he could see better – what, he didn't know – her eyes were still the same, but filled with anticipation. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he said. “No.”

“Are you freaking out?” 

He swallowed tightly and realized a choking sensation was clawing its way up his throat. 

“I, uh,” he said. She was searching his face, like she usually did, probably with better understanding that he had. She was pregnant. Pregnant. How was that possible?

When Skye cocked her head to the side he realized he said that aloud. 

“You, me, the cold I had and antibiotics. They don't mix well with the pills,” she recited. He closed his eyes and nodded. 

“I am sorry?”

“Grant...,” she said slowly and he saw how her hand settled low on her stomach. “ _Are_ you?”

It wasn't an accusation. She always knew when there was more to things he said, or rather, tried not to say. ,

“Only if – if its something you don't want. I mean I didn't want to, uh, put you in this position against your decision and -”

Skye grabbed his slightly flailing hands and he stopped talking. 

“So it's a whoops baby,” she said, “but most of them are.”

He looked at the warmth in her eyes. “What are you saying?”

“You can't plan.... life,” she said. Laughed nervously. He always thought her fingers were powerful and strong, even though his hands were bigger. It was a contrast he never could stop marvel at – he had the physical strength, but her hold meant safety. “Sometimes it happens.”

“Skye... are you sure you want this?” He closed his eyes and focused on her hands. “Do you want a child with me?”

“Look at me, Grant,” she said. And he did. She pulled him closer, close enough to bring his forehead to hers. “I remember everything, you know? Every shitty thing that you've done, and you know what? We're done with that. Every painful moment and every good one, and I wouldn't change one damn second of it. Well. I would, that time when I was shot and that time when you were -”

“Yeah, gotcha,” he said. He didn't need the reminders. Some things never went away. 

“My point is, I want all of you, you dumbass. Your awful past and your badass present and your stupid face and your babies.”

“Babies?” he repeated. Skye kissed him, soft and sweet. 

“Why not? I bet this baby will turn out awesome -”

“So you've decided to...," he swallowed, hard. There was something about the thought of her wanting to have his child. Something about that kind of trust and acceptance and the way her eyes always filled him with light. 

She gave him a long, long look. “I want it. And you, too. Will you do this with me?”

He realized he started grinning, stupidly, and then he was kissing her back, once, twice; third time which grew into a fourth and then he lost count. Eventually he was holding her against him, her face pressed into his chest, staring at the wall and the list of directions for various emergency procedures Jemma had hung on every wall three years ago when they overtook this base. None of it registered or made sense. He wasn't here, he wasn't even on this Earth. The world outside stopped existing. 

Then it hit him. He was going to be someone's father. 

“Skye,” he croaked. She hugged his waist and planted a kiss against his chest. 

“You're going to be great.”

“Great what?”

“Great _dad_ ,” she said. 

“Need I remind you my role models weren't exactly the people you'd give a child to?”

Skye propped her chin against his chest and reached with her hand to move few strands of hair away from his forehead. 

“I happen to know you're not them,” she said. “And if you screw up I'll tell you. And if I do, you'll tell me. And it's not like we'll be alone.”

“No?”

She smiled affectionately. 

“Did you notice those people who were in here when you came in?” she said, and when he kept quiet she gently stroked his face and deliberately traced a thin scar on his right cheek. “They weren't here only because of me,” she said. “You promised me once that people won't turn their backs on me. Remember?” 

Grant nodded. Her chin was sharp against his chest and her eyes were big and serious. 

“I know you meant every bit of it,” she said. “And I mean it too.” 

He managed a smile, holding her face in both of his hands. Her eyes were brilliant depths he would never understand, but he was fortunate, no - he was _blessed_ by the privilege of knowing her. 

Oh, God, he thought. They were going to be parents. 

“I should be comforting you,” he said and kissed her. 

“No, you silly,” she said and pinched his cheek, smiling at him with infinite fondness. “We should be _celebrating_.”

 

*

 

Some time later he found his way to Coulson's office. 

The relief he felt when the older man smiled was indescribable. 

“Sir,” Grant said. 

Coulson walked over to a cabinet and produced two glasses and a bottle. 

“Are congratulations in order?” he asked and Grant grinned, feeling like his face was breaking loose from some kind of anxious confinement. 

“Yes, they are,” Grant said as Coulson poured them both a drink. 

“I'd invite Skye, but I think she's gonna be banned from this stuff for awhile,” he handed Grant a glass containing a generous amount of something amber and wonderfully smelling. “Cheers. And congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Grant said before taking a sip. 

There was a thing about Coulson. Physically he wasn't very big or even frightening. He had a look of a bored accountant about him – when he wanted to – but the longer time you spent graced with his presence, the more clear it was. He was a giant. One of those people you couldn't walk over, even when they're beaten down. Grant sat at the edge of his office desk, which was as neat as the man himself. Coulson sat next to him. 

“Boy or a girl?” he asked. 

“What? It's too early to -”

“I know. But I'm curious what you'd want.”

Grant's response was something he didn't need to think about a lot, or for long. 

“Not to screw up,” he said. Coulson smiled and nodded. 

“Well, life doesn't give guarantees. But it does give you experiences.” 

Grant took another sip, only a bigger one this time. 

“I'm not sure if I can raise a man, Sir,” he said. A little girl would be like Skye, competent and lovely and fearless. But a boy? 

Coulson regarded him thoughtfully. “I think you've done a good job with yourself, Grant.”

That was a rare thing, for Coulson to call him by his name. Grant smiled. He was about to correct him, to tell him that he couldn't possibly make it all on his own, when Coulson lifted a hand holding the glass. “There's another thing. Our children teach us,” he paused, taking his time to give Grant a long, pondering look. “It's not just the other way around. When I thought -” he paused and set the glass aside, aiming his look somewhere ahead of them. Whatever he wanted to say seemed lost. He patted Grant on the shoulder, twice, and sighed. 

“You didn't know,” Grant said. 

“That's exactly what you taught me. If we become too confident in our goodness, we'll overlook things,” when Coulson finally did look at him, his eyes were heavy. “And that's something you won't do, or Skye. Or any of us. So you might not be perfect, but I think you'll do just fine.”

Coulson lifted the glass again. 

“Sir?” 

“Yeah?”

“Would you change any of it?” he asked. If he could, Grant would put it into his hands. Or Skye's. Someone who didn't spend so much time drenched in darkness. If he had an opportunity to go back in time and change things, he'd just mess it up. 

Coulson pondered the question for awhile. He turned and gave Grant a very serious look. 

“Yes," he said deliberately. "Just one thing." Grant realized he was holding his breath as he waited for him to continue. “I wish it was me waiting for you in that juvy twenty one years ago. That's what I would change. And there isn't a day when I don't wish it.”

 

*

 

Some time later Grant showered, changed his clothes and went to infirmary, to subject himself to a checkup Simmons insisted on. Instead of berating him about cuts and bruises (he had just a few), she was flaily – handed and teary – eyed and incredibly excited. Fitz was even worse. They hugged him, separately and together, and laughed and cried and hugged him again. 

After that he just wanted to rest, and he wanted Skye, but she wasn't in her room. He would have panicked if he didn't find her in his, fast asleep on his side of the bed. 

He crawled in and did his best to wrap himself around her (them, both of them, and he was going to protect them and love them and do the best he can). She slept, her back to his front, her face on his pillow. _It smells like you_ she said once after he came back from a mission and found her like this. 

That was the first time when he realized, truly realized, that someone was out there waiting for him and counting on him to come back. 

And now there would be one more person counting on him. The responsibility felt crushing, but still, the thought of it made him feel like he could fly only if he tried. 

_I want all of you_ , he thought. _Your bad past and your badass present; your stupid perfect face and your babies._


End file.
